Page 82 of Sleepover

Chapter 40

Sawyer

After dinner, with dusk falling, the boys join a group of neighborhood kids in a tag game, and race around until they’re completely spent. They don’t even protest when we tell them it’s bedtime, and their lids are already sagging by the time they slip into their sleeping bags. We kneel beside them for “tuck-ins.”

I ruffle Jonah’s dark hair—noting that he’s overdue for a trim (Lucy wouldn’t have let it go this long)—kiss his forehead, and say good night. As I’m getting up to go, he tugs my sleeve. “Daddy,” he says. “If you and Elle got married, would Madden and I be brothers?”

Across the expanse of nylon sleeping bag, I feel Elle freeze.

I’m frozen, too. I’m not sure how to answer. Is Jonah asking if marriage would, factually, create brothers of the two of them? Or is he asking, obliquely, if such a thing might come to pass?

Trust a nine-year-old to make you have to answer a question you haven’t even let yourself ask.

I wish it had occurred to me before this to consult with Elle about how we’d deal with questions like this. I realize, kneeling there, that we’ve made one of those dumb adult mistakes. In our heads, if the boys weren’t aware that we were romantically involved, they wouldn’t develop any expectations. But they’re not old enough to really understand romance anyway. They just see their friendship and our friendship developing in parallel—and that’s enough to make them ask questions.

I need to nip those raised expectations in the bud, to make sure that the boys don’t get hurt if things don’t work out between Elle and me.

“Yes,” I say carefully. “If two single parents get married, their kids become step-siblings.”

“That’s what you guys should do,” Jonah says. “Madden would be a good brother.”

“I have no doubt at all that Madden would be a good brother,” I say. “But please don’t get your hopes up that that is going to happen to you and Madden. Elle and I have both been married before, and neither of us is in a hurry to do it again.”

I let myself peek at Elle, but she is bent over Madden, kissing his cheek, and when she lifts her head, if she has an opinion about the answer I’ve given, it doesn’t show on her face.

I push myself to my feet. Elle gives Madden another quick kiss and rises behind me, following me out of the room and up the stairs. When we get into the kitchen, I close the door behind us and turn to her.

“Hoo boy,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “Wasn’t ready for that one.

I touch her arm. “What I said—I hope you know why I said that—we don’t want them asking us every five minutes if we’re going to get married.”

“Oh, Jesus, Sawyer, of course, that was exactly the right thing to say to them,” she says, flashing me a smile. “You were a superstar. I was totally blank, but you said exactly the right thing.”

Her smile, though, is fading, and there’s an expression on her face that reminds me of how she looked the first night I met her, at Maeve’s. Unsure. Well, fuck yeah she’s unsure. There are still a lot of unaddressed questions in the room.

“It has nothing to do with you,” I tell her. “I mean, it’s not anything about you that makes me feel like it would be a long time before I’d ever want to marry anyone again.”

“No, I know.” She nods. “It’s Lucy. And I respect that. A hundred percent.”

“And it’s not like you want to jump into anything. After what happened with Trevor.”

“No. No.”

“And I respect that.” I reach for her hands and hold them. “But I do care about you so much, Elle. This weekend was amazing. And not just because of the sex. I had such a good time with you.”

A smile crosses her face then, and warmth fills her eyes. “Me, too. Thank you for, you know, rescuing me during the toast.”

“You didn’t need any rescuing.”

“Yeah, well, it felt good anyway.”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead she squeezes my hands and asks, “Do you want to play a quick game of Scrabble or something, until the boys fall asleep?” She gives me a sassy smile.

“Absolutely.”

She beats me soundly, and then she checks on the boys.

“Out cold. Snoring. Beached like whales.”

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